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  CHAPTER II THE BATTLE OF SISKOWIT

  The "Battle of Siskowit," as the boys later named it, was gloriouslyfought.

  "To think," Florence exclaimed, as she watched one band of wearysmoke-choked fighters fall back only to be replaced by fresh shocktroops, "to think that those boys are willing to risk and endure so muchto save us and our boat! What does it matter now if we never make adollar from this summer's work?"

  There were times in that hour of fire fighting when the battle seemedlost; when tall spruce trees, caught in the flames, blazed toward thesky; when the heat burned the faces of the fighters and tar oozed up fromthe _Wanderer's_ deck.

  Three times Rufus went below to set the motors roaring in the hope thatsome small tide had lifted the ship off the rocks, but his efforts werein vain. The _Wanderer_ stuck fast.

  Meanwhile, with fresh wet cloths to protect their faces from theblistering heat, some of the camp boys were swinging axes, clearing abroad fire lane, while others had dug a deep trench and were filling itwith water to defeat the creeping flames.

  "They--they'll make it," Florence breathed. "The wind is falling."

  A moment later she, too, was obliged to hold a damp cloth before hereyes. A sudden fierce gust had thrown a shower of sparks on the deck oftheir boat.

  "Quick!" Dave shouted. "Buckets and mops! We must wet down the deck."

  Five minutes later they were breathing more easily. The fire had reachedthe last tree standing before the lane that had been cut to stop theflames.

  "But will it stop there," the girl questioned anxiously, "or will it jumpthe gap? If it does, we're lost."

  Slowly but surely, as if by a miracle, the flames died down. With a shoutof victory on their lips, a troop of workers sprang at the charred treetrunks which still stood flaming and threatening at any moment to fallacross the gap. With sparks falling all about them, with smoking garmentsand parched faces, the boys hacked and pushed until the last fiery pillarlay flat upon the earth, its burning tinder extinguished. Only then didall join in a hoarse shout of triumph, Dave sounding the boat siren toheighten the note of rejoicing.

  "Just think," there was a suggestion of tears in Florence's eyes,"Grandfather's boat is worth fifteen thousand dollars, and we might havelost it!"

  "It might have been blown to splinters of wood and a mass of twistedsteel," Dave agreed. "We should be thankful."

  "We'll go ashore and hold a jubilee," Florence exclaimed.

  This, for two reasons, they did not do. Half the would-be celebratorswere at once dispatched to a point where the fire still threatened tooutflank them, and at the same time a slim, powerful motor-boat, PatrolBoat No. 1, rounded the point.

  "Yo-ho there!" cried the skipper. "What are you lying here for?"

  "Been helping a little," Dave replied modestly. "Now we're on the rocks."

  "On hard?" the skipper asked.

  "Not very."

  "Good! We'll have you off in a twinkle. Stand by to take a rope."

  The rope was thrown and attached to the _Wanderer's_ stern. The motors ofthe patrol boat roared, and the grounded craft moved slowly backward offthe rocks.

  "Ahoy there!" Dave shouted joyously. "We'll be all right now. Thanks alot."

  The _Wanderer_ had lost a little paint from her bottom, that was all, andas the boat's prow headed for Chippewa Harbor, Florence sat down for abreathing spell before going below to prepare the evening meal. The lookon her face was a sober one.

  "Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow," she said aloud.

  "But we have to live only today," Dave said as he appeared on deck.

  "Only today," she smiled up at him, "and that--why that's wonderful,isn't it?"

  Fifteen minutes later when Dave emerged from a little wireless cabin hehad arranged on the afterdeck, he held two slips of paper in his hand."Important messages," he announced. There was a hint of mystery in hisvoice. He held out a paper on which she read: "Your passengers have beentaken to Rock Harbor. Signed: Ve and Vi."

  This was from Vivian and Violet Carlson, daughters of a fisherman. Itmeant that the _Wanderer_ could proceed at once to Rock Harbor, unloadfreight, swing around to Tobin's Harbor and Belle Isle, then head back tothe mainland.

  "If only," Florence thought. What question was in her mind? Perhaps shecould not have told. She was for the moment oppressed by a feeling ofimpending catastrophy.

  The second message, picked up by chance, was strange. "Importantmessage," it began. "To all lodgekeepers and to all captains of shipstouching at Isle Royale: Be on the lookout for red-and-black boat poweredby heavy outboard motor. Tall gray-haired man and girl of sixteen onboard. They are believed to have left Port Arthur for Isle Royale twodays ago. Nothing has been heard from them. Be on the lookout. Important.Be on the lookout."

  "From Port Arthur. Forty miles of Lake Superior," Dave said thoughtfully."Weather's been pretty good. They should have made it. We'll be on thelookout."

  An hour later Florence dropped down upon a box of life preservers towatch the stars come out. Far off, dim, indistinct, but suggesting allmanner of strange mysteries, could be seen the rocky, all-but-uninhabitedshores of Isle Royale. Here there might be a fisherman's cabin and therean abandoned lighthouse; there the shack of a recluse who mended boats;and there, nestling along the shores of a snug little harbor, thecottages of a small lodge.

  "Not three hundred people on the entire end of the island," she said, asDave passed.

  "And not many coming," said Dave. "Just think! They told us there wouldbe thousands. And they never said," he went on, "that the _Iroquois_,three times the length of our poor, little bouncing tub, would be cominghere three times a week. We're stuck all right."

  "Yes, and yet--" Florence sighed. "Well, it's one grand vacation."

  "What about the fire at Siskowit?" Cottagers, fishermen, lodge people andtheir guests swarmed the dock at Rock Harbor on the arrival of the_Wanderer_.

  "We licked it," Dave reassured them.

  "Yes, you did," exclaimed a skeptical old-timer. "You don't lick a fireon this island in that short time."

  "That's right," said another. "It creeps along on the ground."

  "Yes, and under the ground," added a third. "All our soil is of vegetableorigin. Dry as it is here, everything but the rocks burn. I've seen holesburned four feet deep."

  "Four feet!" Dave stared.

  "No kiddin'," the man insisted. "Question is, what's going to be doneabout it? This island is a national park. Are a pack of boys going to beallowed to burn it up?"

  "I take it," said Dave soberly, "that you are referring to the camp boysat Siskowit."

  "Exactly," said the man.

  "Then," said Dave, still speaking slowly, "all I've got to say is that,in a time like this, little talk and much thinking should be the order ofthe day. Captain Frey says his boys didn't set the fire. I believe him.I--"

  "Then what--"

  "One thing more," Dave broke in, "we've just seen those boys put up afight to save their camp and our boat that would have done credit toseasoned fire fighters."

  Dave stood six feet in his stockings. He had a sharp, penetrating eye.There was that about his tone at this moment that brought the argument toan end.

  "All right," said a sturdily-built old man, known to all at Rock Harboras the Commodore. "Run your boat into Snug Harbor. Water's deep there.You'll tie up for the night?"

  "Why, no." It was Florence who started to speak, then stopped. They hadmeant to go on but she was weary from the day's battle, and so, too, wereher companions.

  "A few hours' rest," she thought with a sigh. Then a question came toher, "What of the mysterious man who had insisted that they pass up the'Battle of Siskowit'?"

  "There's a boat coming in soon," she heard the Commodore telling Dave. "Abig pleasure yacht from Chicago. She'll be tying up at the big dock here.That's why--"

  "Oh sure," Dave broke in, "we'll slide into Snug Harbor." He had sensedFlorence's feelings. They
would stay for a while at least. Florenceheaved a sigh of relief.

  "A large pleasure yacht!" she exclaimed. "That will be swell, just tolook at."

  "Yes, to look at," Dave laughed. "That's as far as we'll get." He glanceddown at his smoke-blackened clothes.

  "But Commodore," Florence exclaimed. "What about that man? Did he go onthe _Iroquois_?"

  "What man?" The commodore stared at her.

  "A short, stout man with a dark face."

  "I don't recollect seeing him," was the reply. Florence stared at thecommodore, but said no more. Somehow she had felt all along that this mandid not intend to leave the island. But why? She could not answer.

  "I believe he's still here," she thought. "Perhaps back there somewherein the dark just now." The thought gave her a sudden turn. "But whyshould I care?" she whispered almost fiercely, "Why should he wish tobreak us? 'Break you'--yes, those were his very words." Dave had saidthey were broke. That was not quite true. They were paying expenses. Thatwas something. But if someone robbed them of their few passengers? Whatthen?

  "We'd have to leave the island," she thought in sudden consternation.